The Savior, The Witch & The Slayer
by PrincessJade
Summary: What if Zelena's time portal sent Emma Swan and Captain Hook to Sunnydale instead of the Enchanted Forest? Set from season 3 (OUAT) and season 6 (Buffy).
1. Chapter 1

Hello all! I haven't written in quite sometime, but I've been recently inspired by wishful thinking. Let's see what comes of it? What if Emma Swan and Captain Hook landed in Sunnydale instead of the Enchanted Forest? Set from season 3 (once upon a time) and season 6 (buffy).

**The Savior, The Witch, & The Slayer**

**Chapter One**

The Savior landed first, flat on her back, with a less than elegant sound. She managed a strangled breath, focusing on the moon overhead, before Hook eclipsed it—toppling on top of her, a tangle of leather and limbs.

For a moment, stunned by his weight, she desperately gasped for air, then finally jabbed her knees and elbows at any part of him she could reach. It was not the gentlest plea for mercy, but when had gentle and Emma Swan ever been friends? Wordlessly, he obliged, but not without a gleam of teeth and curl of lip, and then, in one fluid movement, he was on his feet.

"Are you all right, love?" He asked, offering her his good hand, as his gaze caught hers.

_Bastard._

Emma hated his gracefulness. She hated his smirk. She hated even more that his smirk did not altogether reach his eyes. But, most of all, she hated herself for even detecting his concern in the first place. Grudgingly, she took his hand.

"I'm fine. No thanks to you."

"Now _tsk, tsk,_ Sheriff Swan. I followed you, did I not?" He questioned pointedly, clearly insulted. "I could have left you here to fend for yourself—wherever bloody here is—a little gratitude would…" He trailed off, noticing their surroundings at last.

The moon was weighted, lavishly pregnant in the sky, her aura casting the land in an azure hue. The headstones, like gleaming teeth, stood silent watch all around. There was no breeze. The air encircled them, a balmy exhalation, like a lover—the sun's eternal promise of return.

"A cemetery?" Emma questioned, more to herself than to Hook, and ran a hand over the top of a gravestone. The rows of graves ran far into the distance, too neat and too modern to be the Enchanted Forest. "Where the hell are we?"

"Kansas?" He quipped, eyes twinkling in the moonlight, all swagger again. She rolled her eyes at his attempt at humor.

"I don't think this is Kansas. And I definitely don't think we're in the Enchanted Forest."

"I daresay that's obvious, Swan. " He pointed with his hook at the limestone inscription, while simultaneously removing a piece of grass from her hair. "Look at that."

Hook's tactic—divert, approach, and conquer—had always worked for him in the past and he was confident it would not fail him now. Admittedly, Miss. Swan had yet to be conquered, but if he had learned one thing in his past few hundred years, it was patience. Aye, yes, he knew he could be the most patient of men.

"Buffy Anne Summers…1981-2001…Hey! Stop that!" She swatted his hand, which had been rolling her golden strands between thumb and forefinger, and stepped away. Lately, it seemed that distance was her only ally when it came to all things Killian Jones.

Nonplussed, he flashed a wicked grin her way, as Emma began to pace. They needed a plan. She needed a plan. She feared her sanity depended on it.

"I must say, my dear, there's _something_ quite enticing about how you bite your lip when you're in a tizzy."

She ignored him, but stopped her incessant chewing.

"Killian." His true name a reprimand, yet a bribe. "Focus. If this grave is to be believed, we can't be in the past. We must be in the present…or the relative present. But this is certainly not Storybrooke. Where do you think Zelena's time portal could have sent us?"

Hook shrugged. "Damned if I know. Perhaps the witch's portal went rogue and just sent us outside of Storybrooke."

"We must be _far_ outside of Storybrooke then." Emma surmised, pulling off her gloves in disgust. Everything was sticky. She was sticky. She hated sticky. "This is _not_ Maine weather."

He leered at her. "Do you want some help shedding –"

"Shhh." She paused, hand raised, eyes searching through the moonlight. "Do you hear that?"

But before he could respond, Emma was off like the white rabbit, heading up toward a line of trees at a quickened pace.

"Oh hell." He growled, striding after her. "Swan, for god's sakes. Wait up!"

For Killian knew he had no other choice. He would follow her always. She was his north star.

(888)

He was a flurry of fists, a whirl of black and white. Dancing back and forth, cigarette dangling from his lips, he should feel alive. Carefree. This is what he lived for, this violent dance, for as long as he'd been undead. But lately, it hadn't been the same. Because all he could think of was _their_ dance.

Nothing could compare to the Slayer—her enraged fists, her wanton thighs, her swollen bud of a mouth—and to make matters worse she was like a broken faucet, running hot and then cold in a blink of his undead eye.

"Bloody women!" Spike roared, landing a satisfying punch to his unlucky prey. He had stalked this one from Willy's. She was young and blonde and newly turned. Poor girl couldn't have been more than seventeen. If he had a soul, he told himself, he would of dispatched of her quickly. But he didn't. And he cared more for a punching bag than a hollow act of redemption. He had the vamp on her back now, his rant punctuated blow for blow. "Never. Satisfied. Are. You? You. Bloody. Want. This. You. Bloody. Want. That. Nothing. Is. Enough. Nothing! What's a bloke to do?"

Spike had a split second to look down, long enough to glimpse the fledging's fear, before he found himself tackled and pinned by the throat. Instinct had him swing for his assailant before his brain had time to register the warmth of hands. Then the chip took care of the rest.

"Bloody hell!" He howled, gripping his head.

"Run!" Emma called out to the vamp-girl, hands and thighs tightening around Spike with surprising strength, as Hook swooped in with a gallant crack to the face. Had Spike been human, he would have been knocked out cold, but instead he just grinned through the blood beginning to spill from his nose. Well, this was quite an unexpected turn of events.

"You're gonna regret that, mates."

"Oh are we?" Hook pushed Emma aside. Hauling Spike to his feet by the lapels of his coat, he swung the bleached blonde back against the nearest tree. "You know it's bad form to beat on a lady. Unlucky for you, I don't like bad form, _mate_."

Spike laughed, briefly considering shifting into his game face, as he assessed his new companions. "Is there a costume party going on that I wasn't invited to, _Captain_? I'm almost hurt. But I must say you make a better pirate than that poof Xan—"

"Does this feel like a costume?" Hook threatened, pressing the point of his hook into the side of Spike's neck. "But before I decide to make good use of this or not…my lady and I need a little information."

"Oh is that right?" Spike challenged, clearly unthreatened.

"Yes, and you're going to tell us. Where are we? What is the name of this land?"

"This _land_? " Spike howled with laughter. "Escaped from the Looney bin, have you?"

"Uh, boys?" Emma intervened suddenly, grabbing Hook's shoulder. "Looks like we have company. And they _don't_ look friendly."

Hook peered back to see five men and the young lass, who they had rescued only moments earlier, approaching from the left. Something was not right. Their faces were ridged and distorted, eyes bright amber, even in the darkness. Definitely trouble.

"Looks like the bitch got some back up." Spike eyed the pack of vamps, then Hook, who still had him held firmly in place. "Best let me take care of this, mate. Unless you're both skilled at killing _vampires_?"

"Let him go." Emma ordered, no time for incredulity, and pressed herself back-to-back with Hook. Eyes never leaving the approaching group, she tried to remember anything she'd read of Dracula or vampires in high school, while blood and fangs and creepy long fingernails danced through her head. She refused to be somebody's dinner. Not now. Not ever. "Killian! I said let him go!"

"Smart bird, you are." Spike applauded sarcastically and, finally released, strode to meet the oncoming pack, facial muscles coiling back to reveal the monster within. Almost as an afterthought, seconds before he tore into his first victim, he tossed an object from his coat, fastening his amber eyes on her.

_Vampire._

Emma caught the stake, bewildered.

"Welcome to Sunnydale. And just in case, pet. Aim for the heart."


	2. Chapter 2

_12/30: ah, minor edit. For some reason, I originally remembered it as Dawn's birthday during Older & Far away and not Buffy's...oops. It's been a while since I've watched season 6. I've made the appropriate changes in order to stick to canon._

**Chapter Two**

As luck would have it, Emma did not need to aim for the heart.

Their blonde vampire, even outnumbered six-to-one, made quick work of the enemy. Each burst into a cloud of dust, like exploding fireworks, their demise momentarily frozen, a glittering imprint, before vanishing into the evening air.

It was almost pretty.

Once everything settled, it was undeniable that this vampire was no ordinary vampire. But, most importantly, Emma believed they were not about to end up on his dinner menu, which made him an ally worth having.

"Emma Swan." She stepped forward, wooden stake held out as a peace offering. "And this is Killian Jones."

Spike, face melting back into its original countenance, studied the peculiar pair before him. They did not seem shocked at all by the existence of vampires. On the contrary, almost sagaciously, he sensed Emma's magic. Her aura was alive with it, that unnameable electric current, however bottled by some invisible cork. Her stance was tall, assertive even, with a face framed by waves of wheat. A strong woman. Spike instantly liked her. Now, her companion, no matter how ridiculously dressed, was a different story. His demeanor more deserving of suspicion. For there was an unquestionable darkness visible in the depths of his eyes—an old soul—and Spike, even without a soul of his own, knew time could only hold the most sinister of secrets.

"Spike." He introduced himself at last, lips smug, choosing not to take the peace offering. "You best keep that, love. In case of a rainy day."

Emma shrugged and slid the stake into her jacket, feeling incredibly awkward. It was only fifteen minutes ago that she had this Spike pinned to the ground, assuming domestic abuse, rather than a vampire scuffle.

"Is this…Sunnydale…filled with things other than vampires?"

"This and that." Spike conceded, gesturing them to follow his lead. "I assume you're not familiar with this part of California?"

"Oh, California! No. You're right. We're not that familiar." Emma's relief was palpable. Perhaps they simply were just transported across country. She traded a hooded glance with Hook, who, up to this point, had opted to remain eerily silent. "We seem to have gotten a bit lost and…"

"That's an understatement." Killian grumbled. He was tired of her failed attempts at gathering any useful information. This was not some minor mishap at Granny's. Nor were they dealing with some ignoramus. If this so-called Sunnydale had vampires, it also _had_ to have magic. Good thing he was here to get to the point, because Swan bloody well wasn't.

"What my lady _actually_ wants to say is she got herself, mind you, despite _my_ warning—" He clarified charmingly, raising a conspiring brow Spike's way, all the while prepared for Emma's retaliation which he blocked with the curve of his hook. "—sucked into some witch's portal. Dashingly, I followed after her. And _poof._ Here we are. And, as interesting as this Sunnydale seems, you must understand our need to return, aye? Can you be of service, mate?"

"I've always said, 'Never trust a witch'." The vampire agreed, all for a little camaraderie, as it was confirmed what was suspect all along—they did not belong here. "Flattered an' all, but you don't want my help."

"Why not?" Emma demanded, her long legs easily able to keep the pace Spike had set. By now, the unlikely trio had made their way toward the far end of the cemetery and, newly visible, started onto a road which wound its way into the center of town. "Then where are you taking us?"

"To the Slayer." Spike said, reading her look of alarm, hazel eyes like an open book. "No need to worry, love. My guess is you 'n her will be two bloody righteous peas-in-a-pod."

(888)

As they came upon Revello Drive, it was clear that this was not where either had envisioned the Slayer to be found. _Suburbia_. Wasn't that what they called it? The street was empty, all but for the occasional parked car, dividing an endless stretch of lawns with identically manicured grass and shrubbery. The night air, a cacophony of television sets and sprinklers, hummed beneath the heat, an entity of its own.

Their guide led them down a walkway, where two palm trees stood sentry over a white sided two-story house, its windows luminous in the darkness. While fairly grand, the house did not seem particularly special. The mailbox read: _Summers; _and Hook, thinking back to the cemetery, wondered if that was a common name in these parts.

Spike slipped into the shadows, clearly a path he knew well, and sidled around the back of the house. The yard, dimensions reasonable, was marked only by a lone set of patio furniture. Ascending a quaint deck, he advised them to hang back, before knocking twice with an assertive fist.

"Spike!" A voice hissed, the door opening a crack. "I thought I told you not—"

"I know, I know. Sodding 'ell, I didn't plan on crashing your big day. But you best come out here. It's important."

There was a pause, a lengthy feminine sigh, and then the tiniest of women, flaxen hair swaying hypnotically above a delicate collarbone, stepped out and shut the door quickly behind her.

"All right, Spike. You have two minutes." She warned, placing a hand on his chest, touch lingering.

She studied his face. Relieved to see only a shadow of the damage she caused the previous week. But, because it was Spike, she suppressed those pesky feelings of regret.

"Glad to know your vampire healing's up to speed. You better be here with news of some impending apocalypse and not in hopes of a quick—"

"_Buffy_." Spike chided, pleasantly surprised when she allowed him to close the space between them. "I think you've missed me."

It was true. She had missed him. More specifically, she had missed his mouth and all the dirty things it could talk her into as of late.

In fact, she was contemplating if she was daring enough to allow him a kiss in the open before pulling him into the safety of the shadowed yard, when she caught sight of their additional company. Nearly jumping out of her skin, she was quick to establish a more acceptable circle of personal space as a telltale blush blossomed across her cheeks.

"Oh! Didn't know you brought company. Uh, hi?" Buffy looked beseechingly from Spike to Emma to Hook and back again. Clearly uncertain, Spidey-sense un-tingling, what to make of these two humans.

Were they friends of Spike?! Did Spike even have any friends for that matter? Oh, yes! Clem. But, hello! Clem was a demon, albeit a friendly demon, but still a demon. No, they could not be friends of Spike. There was a far greater chance they were part of some twisted scheme rather than just simple _friends_ of Spike.

"Now, now, love. No need to feel embarrassed. " He motioned for them to come closer, clearly reveling in her discomfort as he made the proper introductions. "Emma. Killian. Meet the Slayer."

"Ah, yes. The Slayer! That's me. The one and only. But you can call me Buffy. All my friends do. Unless I'm wrong to assume our interactions will be friend-ly-ish?"

"Definitely friendly." Emma assured, all business. "Spike said you could help us. We somehow were transported-"

"By magic." Killian inserted, then frowned, wheels spinning. "Buffy Summers? We landed near a grave that said-"

"Yep. Totally my grave. Funny, I've actually died before, no grave though. How'd it look? Maybe I should spruce it up with some flowers?" She deadpanned, tilting her head thoughtfully, before realizing she just completely wigged them out. "Ah, sorry, long story. One you probably don't want to-"

"Buffy? Are you out here?" The back door swung open dramatically, revealing one equally dramatic teenager. "Everyone's looking for you-Oh, Spike! You came! With friends!"

"Course I did, Nibblet. Wouldn't dare miss Big Sis's twenty-first." Spike grinned and changing course, wrapped a protective arm around Dawn. He ushered her back inside, throwing a not too apologetic look over his shoulder.

Buffy sighed and welcomed Hook and Emma with a defeated shrug.

"Hope you like birthday cake."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

_(8:00 PM)_

Tara was moving methodically about the kitchen, looking for a drink, when Buffy entered with a couple she'd never seen before. She smiled in greeting, mouth soft and welcoming, despite the unease that still sat, burdensome, in the pit of her stomach. She wondered if her brief interaction with Willow could have been any more awkward. She had an awful flashback to middle school, all tongue-tied and bashful. Part of her wished to vanish, her anxiety ready to swallow her whole, while the other, the overwhelming part, simply longed to touch her-her slender wrist, her stubborn chin, the delicate skin behind her ear which she had used to press open kisses to-a reminder that they hadn't always been broken. Once they had been beautiful. Once they had been one.

At least, she was glad that Willow looked better, normal even, and hoped her self-proclaimed 'thirty days magic-free' was the truth.

"You all look like you could use a little something." She said with as much cheer as she could muster and opening a bottle of wine, began to pour enough drinks to go around. "I'm Tara by the way. Are you co-workers of Buffy's?"

"Oh, no. We came with Spike? I'm Emma. And this is…Killian. " The blonde said carefully, taking a sidelong glance at her companion who somewhat bowed at his introduction. This only made Emma cringe. He really needed to lose the hook and the clothes, especially in light of their current situation. His appearance wasn't helping. She needed the man, not the pirate.

"I thought Spike wasn't coming?" Tara gave Buffy an innocent look, though she had already seen him come in with Dawn, as she slid four glasses across the counter.

"Yep. Me too. I thought I was pretty clear. But, you know Spike, he never listens...Cheers!" Adios to a Birthday-Buffy only night. She raised her glass to sarcasm and drank deeply.

The others quickly followed suit.

Buffy, judging that they had a few minutes before their chances of being interrupted by someone she'd rather not be privy to the following conversation, got right to the point.

"So you wanna tell me how and why you magically ended up in Sunnydale?"

Tara nearly spit out her wine.

_(9:00 PM)_

Richard arrived, Xander's very cute and available friend, according to Anya. While it was true, Richard was good looking, Buffy remained unimpressed. He was just too normal, too human-which she had long ago resolved would never be for her. Not that she hadn't yearned for normal, especially in her younger years. And once, with Riley, she had desperately fought for normal. But now, especially now, she wasn't looking for normal.

She wasn't looking for love.

But Richard didn't need to know that. And neither did Dawnie or her friends or even Spike. And if she didn't come back wrong, like Tara assured, why did she feel so fractured, so incomplete? Maybe this was what growing up was all about. Maybe this was the cusp of adulthood.

She could see Spike was seething in the hall, arms folded in an attempt to look nonchalant. His gaze was hot on the nape of her neck, burning through skin and bone, as she passed him on her way to refill the bowl of chips. He grabbed her wrist, pulling her toward him, but not close enough to arise suspicion.

"Aren't you a few hundred years too old to be jealous?" She said, mockingly.

"Not jealous, pet." He shrugged, head tilting as he observed her collarbone. "Territorial. Need I re-stake my claim?"

Buffy scoffed, pulling free. "Oh please."

"That a no then?"

"A world of no." She told him. But as she walked away, he swore he'd glimpsed the promise of later in the green of her eyes.

_(10:00 PM)_

Dawn was impatient.

Buffy hadn't opened her gifts yet. In fact, she didn't seem at all interested in them. She was too busy flitting about the room; joking with Xander, teasing Willow, whispering to Tara, showing Richard and Spike's friends around. Then they needed more chips. More dip. More drinks. Then the stereo was being all wonky and they had to get Willow's laptop, which the charger happened to be MIA. A lengthy search commenced, ending with the bookcase in the dining room. Then Anya forgot the weird hors d'oeuvres in the oven, which she procured from God knows where, and wouldn't stop lamenting over the fact that they were crispy ruins. Then the doorbell rang with the last guest, awkward Sophie, and introductions had to be made all over again.

It was never ending and Dawn was tired of it all.

Seriously, wasn't opening gifts the best part about birthdays? Well, besides the cake. Cake was a definite runner up, Dawn conceded. She glanced at her present, painstakingly wrapped, sitting amongst the others, as if it might just get up and run away if it weren't opened soon.

It was time to take matters into her own hands.

"Presents!" She exclaimed, catching everyone's attention as she began assembling them on the coffee table. The conversation trickled to stop and she suddenly felt self-conscious. She gave a nervous chuckle. "I mean...don't you think it's time to open them?"

Buffy, momentarily caught off guard, looked around the room for a consensus. Which was silly, since it was her birthday after all. Regardless, there were no objections.

"Okay! Sure, why not?"

At last, to Dawn's delight, Buffy sat on the couch as everyone, except Xander who hurriedly disappeared mumbling something about forgetting his gift in the car, gathered around.

Tara's gift was first. Bath salts, candles, and a trio of darling colored bottles of lotions. Buffy sweetly took Tara's hand in thanks. Then came Willow's gift. Puzzled, Buffy had to look to her friend for explanation.

"It's a portable massager! You know, for all your little acheys."

"Oh! Great. Thanks." She quickly put it down, attempting to avoid Spike's lewd smirk from the back.

Dawn, unable to contain her excitement any longer, pushed her gift into her sister's lap. "Here. Open mine next!"

Buffy quickly tore through the wrapping and opened the box to reveal a beautiful leather coat. Clearly surprised, she smoothed a hand over its surface.

"Do you like it?" Dawn questioned anxiously, biting her lip.

"Like it? I love it. It's gorgeous, Dawn. Thank you." Buffy said and smiled at her, genuine and bright. Dawn beamed with pleasure. "This must of cost a fortune."

"Oh, um. It wasn't that much." She said quickly. "I was worried you wouldn't like."

"No, no. Of course I love it." Buffy reassured, then frowned when she noticed the security tag.

Dawn frowned too and hurriedly took the box back. "That's so strange! They must of forgotten to take it off. Don't worry. I'll go sometime this week and have them remove it."

Buffy was deciding what to say, hating her sneaking suspicion, when Xander came in, with the help of Anya and Richard, carrying a beautifully carved trunk.

"Xander!" Buffy was off the couch in seconds, face alive with wonder. "Did you make that?"

"Certainly did, Buff. A Xander Harris original. Made with love." He proudly opened and closed the trunk. "To store all your...stuff."

Then everyone was on their feet again, oohing and ahhing over Xander's impressive gift.

Only Dawn was left on the couch. At the sight of Buffy's face, glowing with love and gratitude, all her previous pleasure drained itself and was replaced with annoyance.

Invisible again, Dawn escaped out the front door, doubting she'd be missed, for a breath of fresh air.

(_11:00 PM)_

This marvelous thing called 'birthday cake' was delicious.

Killian was on his third slice.

They had dimmed the lights and poured more drinks, turning up whatever noise they called music, and begun to dance. Even his grim-faced Swan seemed to be enjoying herself, welcomed into the fold of these strangers, hips and arms swaying. He imagined the steady flow of alcohol helped. The girls were a tangle of limbs, weaving in and out, like koi beneath a glittering surface, while outnumbered, Xander and Richard stayed at the edge, bravely dipping in now and then.

"I see you prefer the view from here." Spike said, joining Killian on the sofa, unceremoniously dropping a six-pack between them. Reclining, he stretched his legs across the coffee table. "Seems we have similar styles..." He paused for effect, nodding toward the sea of bodies. "...and tastes."

Killian caught his reference. "Seems that we do."

Spike passed a can of beer his way, then opened one for himself. He took a sip, then said conversationally, "How'd you end up with a bloody hook for a hand?"

"Crocodile." Killian told him and drank the offered beer, even though he'd much prefer a bit of rum. "How'd you end up a vampire who kills other vampires?"

Spike rarely considered his words, but he did now. "The truth? Suppose I do it all for love, mate."

Interested, Killian leaned closer. "And does she love you back?"

Spike laughed and shook his head. "I don't know if she ever could. But I have her now, however unimaginable that is, and even if she never tells her sodding friends or it ends tomorrow, I've had her. And that's enough for me."

Killian contemplated Emma, catching her gaze from across the room, and realized jumping through that portal might have been the best thing he'd ever done.

"Cheers to that, mate. Bloody cheers to that."


End file.
